


Nails in the Coffin

by DrowningByDegrees



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Mid-Credits Scene, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Only very briefly explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever so briefly, Bucky Barnes allowed himself to believe it was going to be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nails in the Coffin

In light of their unfortunate run in with Tony Stark, and the prison break that so quickly followed, it came as no surprise that they were a little worse for wear. The bruises were fading as quickly as they always did, already no more than shadows across Bucky’s pale skin. It seemed like a lie, somehow, that the damage was so fleeting. After all, the memories of what the winter soldier had done insistently lingered, always raw and bloody around the edges. He’d have happily worn every cut and bruise for the memories to evaporate instead.

There was no sense dwelling on that at the moment. This was going to end in violence, of course. No matter how far Bucky ran or what he did, it always came back to fighting for his life or his sanity. Just now though, in the quiet Wakanda offered them, a cup of coffee clutched a touch awkwardly in his remaining hand, he tried to push that inevitability away. Perhaps the universe would grant him one night of being neither predator nor prey.

“You’re awfully quiet. Something on your mind, Buck?” Steve’s voice right through the clutter in his head, a beacon amidst all the shadows. Bucky found himself looking up despite his every intention not to, and oh, that was a poor idea. Steve was right next to him on the couch, catching his gaze the way one might lasso a wild horse. He told himself he could look away if he wanted, that he stayed put entirely of his own volition, but it was almost certainly a lie.

What did he say to that? The truth was likely to net him the sort of promise he’d never ask Steve to keep. A friendship and a wit that time had done nothing to dull came to the rescue, his lips moving almost of their own accord. “It’s been a long couple of days, pal, or hadn’t you noticed? I know you’re a little dense, but…”

Bucky expected the amused smile that creased Steve’s lips, and he braced himself, steadying his coffee lest he earn a smack in the arm for his teasing. Contact came, but not remotely in any form he’d been anticipating. Steve’s arm curled around his shoulders in a way that, even after all this time, was warm and familiar and _home_. It was a home he didn’t have, that he no longer deserved, and the idea caught and trembled in his throat. How long had it been since someone had touched him in a way that wasn’t colored by violence? Years? Decades maybe? Without his metal arm to steady him, Bucky nearly dropped his mug as Steve settled at his side.

It was long moments and the soft sound of Steve clearing his throat before Bucky even realized he’d frozen. It was longer still, in stilted fits and starts that he managed to relax. Steve was talking, and though he didn’t really hear the words, the cadence of it was a welcome calm that patiently seeped right into his bones. Slow and insistent, it eased the stiffness of his limbs, and for a second, Bucky allowed himself to entertain the notion that it was going to be alright.

_Longing_

Bucky froze all over again, seeking out a source for the word. The room was empty though, aside from Steve, who looked at him with furrowed brows and lips pursed with concern. “Is everything alright?”

“I thought I heard…” What? There was no way to finish that statement truthfully that didn’t sound a bit mad, so Bucky didn’t finish it. “I’m fine. It was just the wind.”

“Underground?” Steve replied skeptically, referring to the near fortress that surrounded them. Mercifully, he didn’t press. Bucky willed the quickened beating of his heart to slow.

“So,” Bucky changed the subject, seeking out the familiarity of banter with his oldest friend. He grinned, elbowing at Steve. “This whole fugitive business puts a damper on things. What’s next?””

“First, we see about fixing your arm,” Steve murmured. To be fair, it was a wreck of melted, ruined metal, a stump that would have been truly grotesque, had it been flesh. Steve didn’t seem to mind, though, paying the damaged limb no mind except to ensure that whatever approximation of a nervous system existed there wasn’t disturbed by his proximity.

_Rusted_

No. No, there was no one _there_. There wasn’t even a voice to accompany the words, just a disembodied whisper that knocked around his battered skull. That was the real problem, though Steve kindly hadn’t mentioned it. The arm was a comparatively simple repair to his damaged psyche. Bucky swallowed and told himself he was just tired. He had to be imagining the words.

_Seventeen_

Bucky clenched his teeth, grasping for reason. Even the whisper didn’t really sound like anyone. It was a remnant of a bad memory, and he was robbed of any option but to suffer through its existence. It was painful but harmless in any meaningful sense, surely. After all, with no one to wield the words, there couldn’t be any intent behind them.

“Bucky?” Damn. Steve was looking at him. Any minute now, the truth was liable to come spilling out, and for some unfathomable reason, he couldn’t bear that. He’d spent more than enough time being broken in front of Steve Rogers, and he didn’t want to continue the trend now.

_Daybreak_

Desperately, Bucky sought for a mask for his terror. He leaned in impulsively, lips crashing against Steve’s. It had been ages, but it was hardly the first time, and Bucky told himself that that made up for the silent lie it told. After all, it wasn’t such a terrible thing. He didn’t _not_ want to kiss Steve. Quite the opposite. There’d just been quite a few other things taking precedence up until now. Without the enemy at the gates of his mind, it was entirely likely he’d have ended up here eventually anyway.

To Bucky’s relief, Steve didn’t protest in the slightest. He seemed to take the gesture at face value, shifting to face Bucky a little more fully. His mouth was soft and pliant, entirely unlike the rest of him, and it wasn’t long before Bucky forgot, just a bit, how they’d gotten here. The fear that had driven him to this seemed less important when he could feel Steve’s fingers curl at his back in the fabric of his shirt.

_Furnace_

No! The word, sinister in its relentless calm, echoed at the back of his mind. Clearly, if he could hear it, he just wasn’t distracted enough. Bucky pushed, drumming up energy he didn’t really have, and hoping Steve would peg it for eagerness. There was no finesse to it at all, but Steve’s heart beat steadily under the flat of Bucky’s palm, a one two pattern that Bucky clung to for all he was worth.

_Nine_

Not enough. Nothing seemed like it was enough. Somehow, they’d managed to stretch out on the couch. Well, Steve managed to stretch out at the couch. Bucky straddled his hips, trying to both balance and tug at his friend’s shirt with his one hand. They weren’t really strangers to this either, though that seemed like ancient history now. It was disjointed, as Steve tried to match a pace that Bucky kept changing in his frantic retreat from what haunted him. If Steve didn’t know why Bucky was so desperate for distraction, he seemed happy to offer it anyway, all warm, solid arms that folded around Bucky’s back, and teeth that scraped across his bottom lip.

There was silence in Bucky’s head as they moved, the shadows drowned out by soft sighs and familiar touches. Heavens, he’d missed this. They had a lot of catching up to do, and this didn’t scratch the surface. Bucky rocked his hips, grinning at the low groan that escaped Steve’s lips. They were going to do this again later. Properly. For now, it was enough just to be close and moving and oh, he’d forgotten how good it felt.

_Benign_

He almost didn’t hear it, drowned out in the sounds they made. Bucky moved with a frantic note that seemed entirely appropriate, and Steve didn’t ask, didn’t even seem to notice if something was amiss. Fingers that had curled against Bucky’s back clawed there instead before traversing down his spine and fanning out to his hips. He murmured at the warm sensation of fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers, and, swept away as he was, Bucky hardly even noticed with the clasp at the front of them was undone.

He did, however, notice the heat of Steve’s fingers wrapped around his cock. When had that happened? Everything seemed to happen in fragments, but it felt too good to dwell on. Bucky rocked into the warmth of his friend’s hand, biting his lip at the sensation. He was vaguely sure he returned the favor at some point, judging by Steve’s face, flushed and lovely in the near dark that hemmed them in.

It couldn’t last, of course. It had been too long, and they were both so very on edge, and Bucky at least, was exhausted. Distantly, he recognized his name tumbling off Steve’s lips as the body beneath him stuttered and pulled taut. Bucky was sure he’d be quite pleased with himself for that later, but in the moment, he was far too caught up in following Steve over the edge. Everything was sticky and damp, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He slumped forward, not bothering to fix their clothes in the slightest, sagging with his head against Steve’s chest. There it was. Steve’s heart hammered away in the aftermath, and there was a soft rustle of furniture and fabric as his arms hooked around Steve’s back. Everything else was blessedly silent.

_Homecoming_

Bucky choked on his own breath. He’d been so sure. It was so close now, and he didn’t want to lose himself again. He couldn’t. He just wanted peace and quiet and Steve’s body pressed against his, and there was no telling what he’d do if those words were allowed to finish. There was only one thing to do. He had to get them out.

_One_

He reached up and tugged at his hair, hard and frantic and not entirely reasonable. There wasn’t time to go casting about for something sharp enough to carve out the sound, but it didn’t stop Bucky from working with what he had. He was nothing if not resourceful, and he clawed at his scalp with his good hand, as if he might be able to scratch right through his skull. If there was blood and hair under his fingernails, he didn’t notice. He just had to get it _out_.

“Bucky? Bucky, _stop_.” Distantly, he heard Steve saying words, but they didn’t reach him. There were steady fingers over his, but he only tried to yank away. There wasn’t time to explain. By the time he made Steve understand that he had to do this, it was going to be too late.

“I can’t,” he pleaded, trying to shake Steve’s grip, but he was so tired, and he was down a limb, and already he could feel the world beginning to slip away from him. He choked on the words, fingers curling obstinately in his hair. “I have to. Please. I have to.”

_Freight car_

In an instant, Bucky’s hand stilled, his will slipping away, along with everything else. There were whispers, a question, and Bucky’s lips moved unflinchingly. “Ready to…”

 

* * *

 

“Comply…” Bucky snapped awake, the word like bile on his lips. The dark threatened to suffocate him, but there was none of the fog that should have come over him, choking out his free will. There was only the dark, and Steve’s arm wrapped around his shoulders where they’d fallen asleep on the couch.

Carefully extricating himself from Steve’s grip, Bucky leaned forward. His knuckles between his teeth mostly muffled the sob he couldn’t quite silence, and his shoulders trembled violently as he hung his head in horror and shame. It was never going to be over as long as that booby trap still lingered in his mind.

For a long time, Bucky sat, shaken and unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. He lifted his head when he could bear to, eyes settling on the face of his sleeping friend. Steve looked so peaceful, and there was a pit in Bucky’s stomach at the idea of what he might have done had any of his dream been real. There were parts of it he’d wanted, but it was going to have to wait. Hopefully, Steve would understand, or at least forgive him.

There was little in the way of light, but it was enough. It was enough to memorize Steve’s muscular frame that Bucky never quite got used to. It was enough to take in every corner of the room, searching for an intruder he knew didn’t really exist. It was enough to catch a glimpse of dried bloody and a few stray hairs under his nails. Bucky swallowed, and stood up, careful not to wake Steve.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, watching his friend for a moment. Understanding sat like rot in his stomach, no matter how much Bucky tried to stave it off. He’d done so much damage, and Steve was all he had left to protect, no matter how little the guy seemed to need it these days. Stasis was the only option until they pulled these poisoned roots out of his head that he couldn’t dislodge himself.

Impulsively, Bucky leaned in, pressing his lips to Steve’s temple. One of these days, they were going to get it right. In the meantime, he slipped away, denying himself the vulnerability that came with sleep, no matter how desperately he wanted rest. He couldn’t do much to look out for his friend, but he could do this.


End file.
